“Of Squirrels and Stolen Pies”

I was running. I always seem to wind up running whenever I spend a day with Berilac, Merimas, and Falco. All week we have been doing dares and attempting the sort of things that my parents would punish me for if they knew. I spend my time, when I’m not busy running, worrying about what might happen to me if we’re caught. I want them to think of me as old enough to keep up and I most certainly do not want to be thought of as a coward, but I do wish that we could spend one day fishing or swimming or something a bit safer.

I am easily in front of the others, even though they are older than I am, because I have always been the fastest runner in Buckland. It galls them, but the others can’t keep up with me once I hit my stride. I will admit that I am starting to get a stitch in my side right now, but I am not about to let anyone know it. One of the others will give out before I do!

I am very glad that I am not the one carrying either of the pies. It is so much harder to run if you have a warm pie in your hands. Falco has one of them and Berilac has the other. We have just raided the windowsill of Old Mistress Sandhills in Crickhollow. She is one of the finest bakers this side of the Brandywine but unfortunately for us, she isn’t all that old and her husband is quite fit. He and a couple of others are giving chase and that is why we are running. I don’t think that they got a proper look at us, but if they manage to catch up then we are all done for. Berilac and Falco are holding the evidence and so there won’t be any way around it.

We have just tuned the corner near the road to the Hall and I am thinking of shooting off road into the woods. The others will follow. It will be rough going with those pies but it isn’t at all smart to keep running as if we are going to Brandy Hall. That will most assuredly give us away. We are nearing a path that I know and so I turn and shoot up it. As I do, I pass my younger cousin, Pippin who is leaning against a tree and looking up at the branches. I’ve no time to figure out what he is looking at or even to say hello. I also can’t warn him to keep his mouth shut about seeing me. All I can do is hope that Pippin’s mouth doesn’t betray us. It has before. He never means to give us away but he just opens his mouth and says what he thinks.

I give a look over my shoulder just to make sure that the others are following me and that is when I see Berilac shove his pie into Pippin’s hands as he passes. I slow a bit. Is Berilac trying to pin our crime on Pippin or is he simply tired of trying to carry the pie and run at the same time? I stop completely and that’s when Merimas and Berilac each grab one of my arms and drag me into the cover of the trees and foliage just off of the path. As they pull me backwards I have an excellent view of Pippin standing there holding the pie and looking at it as if Yule has come early.

“What are you doing?” I hiss and Merimas promptly covers my mouth tightly with his hand. Just beside of him, Falco joins us and as he drops down into the cover of the ferns that grow high and deep in this area, he looses his balance and falls chest first onto his pie. Berilac groans softly and I struggle to get Merimas’ hands off of my mouth but suddenly, we can see that Pippin is no longer alone and we all fall silent, staring at the one hobbit in the Shire that you don’t ever want to trust to keep his mouth shut. The one who is holding our remaining pie.

Mister Sandhills and his two companions have just rushed up to Pippin and they seem to be deciding which way to run when all of the sudden one of them points to the pie in Pippin’s hands. “Where did you get that?” he demands in an angry tone.

Pippin looks up at him and smiles. Pippin is always the last one to realize that he is in trouble. “Hullo,” Pippin says. “Are you looking for something?”

“Are we looking for something?” the hobbit sighs and nudges Mister Sandhills in the ribs. “Do you hear this one, Arnot? He wants to know if we’re looking for something.”

I tug at Merimas’s hand but my older cousin isn’t about to allow me the chance to warn Pippin or to give away our hiding place. Pippin smiles broader and looks up at Mister Sandhills and says, “You’re all out of breath. Have you been running?”

Mister Sandhills looks at Pippin as if he can’t believe what he is hearing and then he gets right to the point of things. “Where did you get that pie?”

Beside of me, Berilac sucks in a breath and holds it while I glare at him. Pippin looks down at the pie in his hands and says, “This pie?”

Falco, who is covered with cherry pie, smacks his forehead and glares at Berilac. It seems that I am not the only one who isn’t pleased with Berilac’s decision to give that pie to Pippin. I have an ally now. Berilac shrinks back a bit under the weight of our combined stares as we hear Mister Sandhills say, “Yes, that pie that you are holding right this minute. Where did you get it?”

“That’s a funny thing,” Pippin says, looking up at Mister Sandhills.

“So far, I’m not at all amused,” Mister Sandhills confesses trying to intimidate Pippin with his own glare but it doesn’t work at all well. Pippin is completely unfazed by the glare.

Falco examines his shirt and he is the only one ignoring Pippin and Mister Sandhills. The rest of us are glued to the exchange that is taking place just a few yards in front of us.

“Oh, well, of course not,” Pippin says. “I’ve not told you the tale yet.” He smiles and then he says, “I was standing here watching some squirrels in this tree. I’d point them out to you but I think all the ruckus has run them off and also I have this pie in my hands so I can’t point without dropping the pie, don’t you see.”

“Never mind the squirrels, just tell me how you came by the pie,” Mister Sandhills demands.

“Just come out and ask him if he stole it or not,” one of the other two hobbits advises.

Pippin looks completely startled by this and looks at the hobbit who suggested this with a frown. “I did not steal this pie. It just turned up,” Pippin says.

“Oh, it turned up, did it?” the hobbit says.

“Aye, it did that very thing,” Pippin says, grinning in spite of his earlier indignation at being accused of stealing. Pippin gets over things quickly and moves on. It will actually make you dizzy if you don’t know what to expect.

“So that there pie just walked right up to you and leaped into your hands, did it?”

Pippin actually laughs at this. He laughs and I try my best to get free from Merimas with no success. The little rascal is going to seal his own fate before I can get the chance to save him. Merimas now has both hands over my mouth and Berilac is practically sitting on my lap. They are making extra sure that I have no way to get to Pippin. Meanwhile, Falco is watching Pippin and licking cherry pie off of his own shirt.

“You think that’s funny, do you?” Mister Sandhills asks and Pippin nods, still laughing. “You think that what my brother-in-law says is funny?”

“Well, it’s more silly than funny when you think on it,” Pippin says. “I mean, pies don’t walk unless maybe it would be a magic pie that a Wizard had put a spell on or something.” His eyes light up and he says, a bit breathless. “Is this pie a magic pie?”

Mister Sandhills’s brother-in-law chokes a bit and Mister Sandhills says, “That is a cherry pie that my misses baked and put in our window to cool, but then I guess you probably already know that, don’t you?”

Pippin frowns at the pie, a bit disappointed that it isn’t magic, and then says, “I know it now that you’ve told me,” he says. “I did like my story about a Wizard much better though, but I suppose that couldn’t really happen unless there was a wizard about, could it?”

The three hobbits exchange confused looks and finally, the one who has remained quiet says, “I don’t think this lad is bright enough to have stolen the pies, Arnot,” he has lowered his voice but all of us, including Pippin, can hear him well enough.

“I could steal anything that I wanted to steal if I were wanting to steal something, “ Pippin says, glaring. This is the first trace of anger he has shown. He is insulted and I don’t blame him. I am insulted on his behalf.

“So!” the brother-in-law interrupts. “You are admitting that you stole that pie!”

“No, I’m not!” Pippin says. “I said I could have stole it but I didn’t steal it. I told you it just turned up on luck of a sort.”

“How is it that my wife’s cherry pie turned up in your hands?” Mister Sandhills demands taking a step toward Pippin who backs up a bit now, but only a tiny bit. I don’t think he’s afraid. He seldom sees the danger that he’s in until he’s in up to the top of his curly little head and he isn’t quite there just yet. I think he only stepped back so that he wouldn’t have to strain his neck quite so much to look up at Mister Sandhills.

“I was just standing here and watching the squirrels that you don’t really want to hear about and all of the sudden this older lad runs up and gives me this pie and then runs off,” Pippin says.

It’s perfectly true but I am thinking that no one will believe him. Berilac has gone a bit pale and I can feel his hold on me slacking slightly. I don’t move so that he isn’t aware of it. He might let go altogether if I am still enough and then maybe I will be able to break free of Merimas and get Pippin away from that lot.

“So you expect us to believe that, do you?” the brother-in-law asks arching an eyebrow at Pippin.

“Papa says that if you tell the truth that folks will have no reason at all to doubt you,” Pippin recites pleasantly enough. “I’ve told you the truth and so that’s really all there is.”

Berilac is desperately hoping that is all there is because he knows full well that the next word out of Pippin’s mouth could very well be 'Berilac'.

“Fine,” the third hobbit, who hasn’t say too much so far save to accuse Pippin of being a nit-wit, says. “What can you tell us about the lad who gave you the pie?”

“Oh, all sorts of things, really,” Pippin says but he doesn’t offer up any of those things. He just stands there swaying from foot-to-foot and holding the cherry pie.

“Then why don’t you start by telling us what he looks like?” Mister Sandhills suggests when Pippin fails to say more, which, as I can tell you, is a rare thing in itself.

“He was taller than me and he was running and carrying this very pie that I have right here in my hands right now,” Pippin says and then he thinks a minute and says, “He had shifty eyes and he looked kinda slow-witted like one of you thought I was, only I’m not, but this hobbit that gave me the pie just might be.”

Berilac has forgot all about holding me in place and he is nearly ready to forget himself and climb through the ferns and throttle Pippin. Behind Merimas’s hands, I am grinning. Falco has looked up from licking the pie from his shirt and is staring in amusement at Berilac.

“You see,” Pippin continues. “You don’t just give away a perfectly good pie if you don’t have to and this lad just gave me this pie and then kept running. Doesn’t that sound slow-witted to you? My cousin, Merry says that you don’t waste food and it seems a waste to just give away a whole pie.” Pippin looks hungrily at the pie now.

“If anyone ran by here and gave you that pie, then which way did he run?” the brother-in-law asks.

“I can’t point on account of the pie,” Pippin says. “He went off on up that road that you just came from, him and his friends.”

“There was more than one of them?” Mister Sandhills asks leaning down and suddenly giving Pippin’s neck a rest.

“Oh, didn’t I tell that part?” Pippin asks turning his head slightly to one side as if trying to remember what he has told to this point.

“No, you didn’t,” Mister Sandhills says leaning closer to Pippin so that he is almost nose to nose with my twelve-year-old cousin.

“Well, that’s probably important on account of one of the others had a pie just like this one,” Pippin says. “I shouldn’t have left that part out, but I was interrupted at the very beginning during the part about the squirrels and so I lost my place. If I get interrupted then I don’t always tell a thing properly and I leave important bits out and everyone gets confused so I guess that’s what happened right here.”

Pippin is telling the complete truth about this. It is better just to let him ramble along. He’ll get to the point eventually. If you interrupt him, it could take days to get the full story and then it will be completely out of order and you will be forced to try to piece it together on your own. They should have let Pippin tell them about those darned squirrels and then they wouldn’t be in this mess. You just have to know how to talk to Pippin if you want to find out anything at all.

“How many were there?” the brother-in-law demands hoping to get to the point of it all.

“Well, I didn’t actually count because when the one lad gave me this pie, I lost interest in the others since I now had this pie that I didn’t even ask for or anything,” Pippin smiled. “It just came to me.”

The brother-in-law is on the verge of saying something rude but Mister Sandhills wisely cuts him off. After all, Pippin may be annoying to talk to, but he is only twelve and you can’t just say any old rude thing to a lad of twelve. I look over at Berilac and I notice that he is even paler than he was a minute ago. Merimas is frowning too now. It seems that both of my older cousins think that Pippin is about to give them away. I know it isn’t that simple. Mister Sandhills and his companions are ages away from finding out anything useful.

“Well how many do you think there were?”

“You want me to guess?”

“Fine. Yes. I would like you to guess,” Mister Sandhills snaps.

“Five, or maybe three,” Pippin says and he looks up at the tree. “All of the squirrels are gone now.”

“Not all of them,” Merimas mutters beside me. I would glare at him but I can’t turn my head that way just yet. If he weren’t so thick he’d realize that so far, Pippin has saved his sorry hide just by being Pippin. Merimas should be grateful but I doubt that he is.

“Never mind the squirrels!” the brother-in-law shouts.

Pippin’s mouth falls open and for a minute I think he might actually cry. Instead he says, “You don’t like squirrels very much, do you?”

Falco, who is much brighter than either of my cousins, can see the humor in it all and he is having a very hard time not laughing. He distracts himself by running his finger around the rim of the pie tin and then licking off the cherry sauce.

“How many lads were there that ran by you?” Mister Sandhills demands.

“Six, or maybe only three,” Pippin says. “I’d just flat out be lying to you if I told you that I knew exactly how many there were. I was busy being thankful for this pie that just came to me. You know how it is when you are looking forward to having a pie, don’t you?”

“I do indeed because I was looking forward to having that very pie that you are now holding!” Mister Sandhills says far too loudly.

“Are you here to swipe my pie?” Pippin asks, backing up again and looking rather protective of the pie.

Merimas is stunned. Pippin is actually accusing Mister Sandhills of stealing his own pie! In fact, Merimas is so stunned that he lets go of my mouth and puts his hands over his own. I, being one of the very fastest, if not the fastest hobbit in the Shire move too quickly for my cousins or Falco and I back up further into the trees and then move around quietly to a new location. I have a plan. None of my partners in crime attempt to come after me. They know that would make far too much noise and I would just yell out and give us all up. They glare at me, well, Falco doesn’t. He is still looking with complete awe at Pippin, but Berilac and Merimas glare at me. I give them a small smile because I know that will get to them more than glaring and I continue to move quietly away from them.

“Your pie?” the brother-in-law's voice asks. I can’t see him, but I can most certainly hear him and I know that Pippin has just about pushed this thing to its limit. I am running out of time for a rescue.

“Well, it’s mine as far as I can tell,” Pippin says. “I was just standing here and that slow-witted lad gave it to me so that makes it my pie.”

“I still think you stole that pie right off of my window sill,” Mister Sandhills says.

That’s when I come out of the woods just behind Pippin. I moved around in that direction so I wouldn’t give the others away and so it would look like I was just now getting here. Clever, uh? “Pippin, are you all right?” I say, and I come up beside of him and put my arm around his shoulders.

“These folks are calling me a pie stealer, Merry!” Pippin shouts without taking his eyes off of Mister Sandhills.

“I caught him red-handed,” Mister Sandhills says to me. He isn’t as rude to me as he’s been to Pippin because I am as tall as he is but he is still taking a tone that I don’t like.

“Did you see my cousin steal a pie?” I ask.

“We’ve been chasing him all the way from Crickhollow,” the brother-in-law says.

“I wasn’t at Crickhollow! Merry, I’m not allowed to go there on my own,” Pippin says. I could remind him that he isn’t supposed to be this far from Brandy Hall either but now is hardly the time to test the limits of our friendship by bringing up his crimes.

“Of course you aren’t,” I say and I look at Mister Sandhills indignantly. I know that I am giving him an indignant look because I’ve practiced this one in front of my mirror for emergencies. “Mister Sandhills, perhaps you’d like to explain this accusation to my father, the Master of Buckland. Maybe you’d like to tell him that you think his favorite nephew stole a pie in Crickhollow or maybe you’d like to tell him how you’ve been chasing a twelve-year-old lad.” I don’t always enjoy being the Master’s son, but sometimes it comes in handy. I am pleased to see Mister Sandhills looking very nervous now.

“This lad isn’t a Brandybuck,” the brother-in-law dares to point out. There’s an easy call considering the accent and the nose. Pippin is all Took and any hobbit with one good eye or better still, one good ear, can tell you that. “He’s a Took or my name isn’t Otto.”

Pippin puffs out his chest and announces. “Of course I’m a Took! You can’t think I’m a Brandybuck!”

I might be insulted if I had a minute to be insulted but instead I start again in my son-of-the-Master-of-the-Hall-voice. “That’s right, this is my cousin, Peregrin Took.”

“The Master’s missus was a Took before he married her,” the hobbit who hasn’t had much to say reminds them.

“I can take all of you up to the Hall right now and you can explain why you are accusing my little cousin of thievery,” I say sounding calm about it all. I know that if they take me up on it and Pippin starts in about the squirrels that my father will listen to every word of it. He knows exactly how to talk to Pippin and he will get the entire story even if it takes the rest of the day. I may sound calm but inside I am shaking like a lose window pane in a summer storm.

“Uncle Doc will tell you that I’m not a pie-stealer!” Pippin shouts. “It was those cowardly lads that ran off after they gave me this pie. They’re the ones that took it, not me.”

I break in now because Pippin is getting too worked up and he is likely to slip and say someone’s name if I don’t put a stop to all of this. “You’ve upset my cousin,” I say and Pippin nods, narrowing his eyes and glaring at Mister Sandhills.

“I’m all upset now, Merry,” he says and I know that we are dangerously close to slipping up. Pippin is looking up at me and saying exactly what he thinks I want him to say but I would prefer it if he were just quiet for once.

“He couldn’t have stole the pies!” the quiet one says suddenly.

“What?” Mister Sandhills frowns at him.

“He’s too short, Arnot,” he says as if this bit of wisdom has just smacked him in the forehead. “He wouldn’t have been able to reach the window sill! I think he’s telling the truth.”

I remain quiet because Mister Sandhills is now sizing Pippin up with his eyes and slowly coming to the same conclusion as his friend did. “Well, I don’t know how I missed that,” he mutters still looking at Pippin.

“You were too busy calling me a pie-thief!” Pippin says jutting his chin out at Mister Sandhills and looking offended.

I put in one of my own glares for good measure and suddenly the three of them are practically falling all over themselves apologizing to Pippin and to me and they are even sending their apologies to my father. I have no intention of delivering any apologies to my father as I know that would only make him decide to have what he likes to call a sit-down with Pippin. My father is smart enough to know when something is up. He is the Master of Buckland after all.

“Pippin, give this gentleman his pie back,” I say putting the final touch to it all. “You didn’t steal it, but the wicked lad who gave it to you had no right to it. You don’t want to keep anything that was given to you by a thief.”

Pippin looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind by offering to return a perfectly delicious-looking pie. “But Merry, this pie-“

“Let the lad keep it with my apologies,” Mister Sandhills says and I can see that he is a bit reluctant to give away the pie himself.

“Really?” Pippin asks, forgetting everything that has happened up until now. “I can have this whole, entire pie for my very own?”

Mister Sandhills pats Pippin on the head and if it weren’t for the pie in Pippin’s hands that would have made Pippin angry. He hates being patted on the head but he is too busy admiring his pie to bother about a pat on the head. “You keep it, lad,” Mister Sandhills says in a more convincing tone. “We’ll just be off home now.”

Pippin’s head snaps up now and he says, “Aren’t you going to hunt down those slow-witted, cowardly, wicked old lads what stole your pie?”

I am starting to get very nervous now and I know that Berilac and Merimas and Falco are probably nervous too. They are also probably plenty insulted as well. Pippin has just called them everything but hobbits.

“No, they’re probably long gone from here by now,” Mister Sandhills sighs.

“Maybe not,” Pippin says. “They might be hiding and watching us right this very minute.”

I nearly choke as he delivers this suggestion.

“No, I’d guess that they’ve got clean away,” Mister Sandhills says.

Pippin shrugs. “Suit yourself, but if it were me I’d be looking in the woods and the ferns for those pie thieves.”

“Don’t tell Mister Sandhills his business, Pippin,” I warn knowing full well, even if it’s slipped Pippin’s mind that Berilac and Merimas will sing out my name the minute they are caught. Pippin is playing with fire and I am likely to get burned to a cinder if he doesn’t stop now. “We should be getting home. You have a pie to eat.”

He grins at me now and his mind is on the pie again. “Let’s go, Merry. I’m hungry and my arms ach from holding this pie up all of this time.”

Mister Sandhills and his friends give me a chuckle and a look that says that they now find Pippin absolutely adorable. Everyone does sooner or later so I am hardly surprised. I just smile back and then very quickly usher Pippin onto the road and in the direction of the Hall. We don’t have too much time to make ourselves scarce before Berilac, Merimas, and Falco come out of hiding and track us down.

No sooner than we are out of ear shot Pippin turns to me and grins. “Did you steal this pie, Merry?”

“I helped, but Berilac actually stole this one. I was a look-out,” I say.

Pippin frowns. “You didn’t do very well at that, did you?”

I sigh. When he’s right, he’s right.

“I’m going to sit down and eat this whole pie all on my own,” Pippin brags.

And when he is wrong, he’s completely wrong. I worked hard for that pie! He may not know yet but he will be sharing.

The End

G.W. 01/17/2006